


The Four Poster Bed

by celluloidbroomcloset



Category: The Avengers (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloidbroomcloset/pseuds/celluloidbroomcloset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-Too Many Christmas Trees. Steed and Emma make use of that nice big bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Four Poster Bed

John Steed had never been quite so exhausted. Physical exhaustion he could take; it was even a rewarding experience, a nice rest that meant a job well done.. But his mind had spent the better part of several days fighting to keep out unwanted interlopers; his dreams had been real enough, and not the less disturbing because he knew who and what created them. He needed a good stiff brandy, a good long sleep, and a proper vacation, in that order. 

Mrs. Peel looked something the worse for wear as well. He was grateful to her, and not just for her presence of mind and formidable combat skills in the past hour. Her more tender ministrations had been an unexpected boon. She looked after him, even when he could tell her nothing - indeed, had even been forced to banish her from his mind. No one had put the idea to worry about him into her mind. It warmed his heart to know that she had been there, even if it pained him to conceal things from her.

He let her walk past him into his bedroom. It was late - past midnight now. The Ministry team had come and gone, quietly as mice. Dr. Tisel had gone with them, rubbing his aching jaw and casting his eye over Mrs. Peel with perhaps a bit more respect. 

“I warned you not to underestimate her,” Steed told him when they shook hands. 

“Especially not where you’re concerned.”

The room’s fire had burned low over the past hours, but Steed quickly stoked it back to a warming blaze while Mrs. Peel poured out the brandies. As he collapsed in the armchair nearest the fire, Steed felt the exhaustion begin to overtake his limbs. Sleep might very well win the day over more active pursuits, or so he thought as he looked over the attractive figure of his partner. Trousers and blouse did something for her, clinging in all the right places to emphasize what curves she had. A few hours rest would do them both good and then…well, then he could make up for lost time.

“I’m surprised about Brandon Story,” said Steed.

“I’m surprised about Jeremy. I’d never have believed it of him.”

There was an ungentlemanly stab of jealousy somewhere around his midsection He suspected that Jeremy’s participation in the whole thing was less about weedling out secrets and more about satisfying an ego that didn’t like being rejected. But Steed would never voice these thoughts, and he felt less a man for thinking them - an unfortunate feature of his personality was jealousy of any man with even the slightest bit of influence over Mrs. Peel. He wasn’t glad that Jeremy was dead - in fact, he was quite sorry - but that didn’t mean he had fond feelings towards the man.

“He can’t have known what he was doing, really. He obviously tried to stop it from going too far.”

“He knew enough.” Her tone turned harsh. “Even if he didn’t know that they were trying to get secrets out of us, invading someone’s mind to plant ideas there is villainous enough. Especially…” She stopped. He could see by her expression what she was thinking. 

“I rather think he was deluding himself,” said Steed. There was a certain type of egotism to young men like Jeremy: quiet, somewhat bookish types who believed that they were not being given their due by the opposite sex. Steed had known plenty such men. It was always someone else’s fault. 

Emma was pacing near to his chair. He recognized that nervous energy - useful for assignments, most annoying in the aftermath. He reached out and took her hand. The skin was soft and warm - like her eyes when she turned to look at him. Without a word, she came to him. The weight of her on his lap felt good after so long. He watched as some of the tension drain from her face when she closed her eyes, muscles relaxing, her breath steadying against his chest, unconsciously matching his. She still held the brandy glass balanced on one knee, but otherwise she might have been asleep. He wouldn’t have minded.

“I can feel you looking at me,” said Mrs. Peel, opening one eye to squint at him.

“Mind-reader,” replied Steed, smiling. 

“Certainly. I can always tell what’s on your mind.”

“I know.” 

“Well? What are you going to do about it?”

He set his glass on the side table and turned back to kiss her. Her lips were soft and flavored by the brandy, a delicious flavor that he associated always with her. Tentative as he often was after a case, he opened his mouth slightly and felt her respond, melding her mouth again his. Her soft tongue caressed his own. A familiar buzz of desire encompassed him, but he had no wish to rush things. Simply kissing her again was a reward in itself. 

“Mmm.” Mrs. Peel smiled dreamily at him when he pulled away. “Steed, what were you thinking about?”

“I thought you could read my mind.”

She made a face. 

“Us,” he said.

“You and me, us?”

“That’s the usual definition of us.”

“What about us?”

“You know…” he began, then realized he was uncertain about how to finish the sentence. He knew what he wanted to say, but none of the words seemed right. He looked into her eyes and saw it all there: all the warmth, the support, the desire, everything he could have ever expected or wanted. How could he say anything? Words did not do it justice. 

She leaned her head against the back of the armchair, wide dark eyes gazing into more than just his own. 

“My darling Steed,” she said, tracing his jaw, the small cleft in his chin, the tiny crows’ feet at his eyes. He smiled, wondering if she understood all the things he couldn’t say. They always had communicated without words, after all. 

“You trust me, don’t you, Steed?” 

His eyebrows rose. “Of course I do.” After everything that happened with PSEV, he was never going to… “Ah. Emma, I would never have lied to you if it wasn’t…”

“Necessary. I know. But I want to know that we’re on the same page.” 

She twined her fingers with his, not looking at him. He could hardly miss the significance of what she said. It had been coming for months. He’d been frightened, he’d been cruel, he’d tried to push her away, but he finally understood what it seemed she’d known, if not all along, then for some time. 

“We are,” he said. “From now on.” He kissed the back of her hand and went to kiss her mouth, only to find his progress arrested by her wide, noisy yawn. 

“Oh, excuse me.”

“It’s late - or rather: early.” 

“Mmm. Steed, would you mind if I stayed here? I don’t like to go back to my room, after everything.”

“I was on the point of suggesting it.” 

He reluctantly released her and she swung her legs onto the floor. He got up, unknotting his cravat as he did. She already half undressed by the time he got over to his suitcase and tossed a pair of pajamas at her. She preferred sleeping in something, while he usually preferred au naturelle - especially if he had company. By the time he had tossed some cold water on his face and finished undressing, she was cuddled underneath the thick duvet. He slipped in beside her, gratified when she wriggled up against his chest. It was an oddly intimate thing, her dressed in his pajamas. The big shirt just covered her thighs, an erotic enticement he could not quite follow through on. Yet. He pressed his lips to the corner of her jaw. The caress transformed to a kiss when she turned her head.

“Did you really give that girl your phone number?” she whispered, her lips moving against his so seductively that for a moment he didn’t register her words’ meaning. 

“Had to keep you out of my mind somehow.” 

“By making dates with other women?”

“I didn’t make a date.” He stroked the soft flesh of her stomach. “I haven’t seen anyone else in quite sometime.”

“Good.” She rolled over, pulling his arm with her. “Neither have I.”

“I know.” 

“How do you know?”

“I am a spy, my dear.”

“Hmph.”

Steed drew her close and closed his eyes. Within a matter of minutes, he was asleep. 

The sun had barely broken over the grey, snowy landscape when Steed awoke. The fire had turned to a few still-glowing coals, dropping the temperature in the room by several degrees that he could feel when he poked his head out from under the covers. The rest of his body felt pleasantly warm beneath the thick duvet, especially where Emma lay pressed against him. Often they slept far apart, only coming together when wakeful demands made it necessary. He was a fitful sleeper - she often complained that she never knew where he’d wind up in the middle of the night. But the combination of exhaustion and need for warmth had kept them close over the few hours they’d slept. He still cradled her in his arms, her face resting against his chest. Desire, warm and languid, stirred his body. It had been too long - a few days, a week … now that he thought of it, a week and a half. He had gone for longer, of course, but not after he found Emma Peel. Still, he didn’t want to wake her quite yet, after all she’d been through, and so made do with pressing a kiss to her forehead and breathing in the heady scent of her hair. 

To Steed’s surprise, the kiss made her move gently against him, a tiny, sleepy moan escaping her lips. Her arm pulled him tighter as though he were a big teddy bear. He curved his head down and kissed her temple, then each of her closed eyes, her perfect nose, her high cheekbone, working his way to her ear. 

“Emma,” he whispered, so light that he almost couldn’t hear himself. She mumbled something when he kissed her earlobe. 

“Eeeemmmma,” he repeated, smiling as he felt her waken a little more. 

“Go away, Steed,” she mumbled. 

“All right!” He made a move as if to jump out of the bed and was immediately drawn back into an insistent, heady kiss. Her body conformed perfectly to his, her mouth opened to admit his tongue. 

“You better have a good reason for waking me up,” she said, her voice still a little hoarse with sleep. Steed smiled and pecked her lips. 

“Oh, I do.”

He crushed his mouth against hers again. At the same time he found the buttons of the pajama shirt. One firm breast filled his hand. When he lowered his mouth to engulf her, she wound her fingers in his hair. She gasped as he played his tongue across the hard nipple. She tasted of salt and spice, and smelled just slightly of his cologne, left over on the shirt. The thought that he left his scent on her inflamed him and he opened the shirt the rest of the way, exposing more flesh to his eager tongue and hands. 

“Oh, John.” The need in her voice matched his own. He ran a hand up her thigh and slipped his thumb beneath the fabric covering her groin. She sucked in a breath as he pressed the ball of his thumb into her. The feel of her hot and wet and the little moans as he touched her made him hard. He swept up her body and took her mouth again, drawing deep kisses from her as he slid his hand back into her underwear, moving his fingers fast until she came in a quick, hard orgasm. 

Then her hands were on him, massaging his back in long, smoothe strokes, coming around to fondle his chest, tickle his neck, and then sweep down again, holding his backside. He throbbed for her, a new desperation to be inside her overcoming his desire for slow sensuality. He kissed her long, beautiful neck as he slid her panties down. She kicked them off the rest of way and rolled to face him, tossing one leg over his hip so that his erection, still encumbered by his briefs, pressed against her entrance. 

“Make it last,” she said and took his mouth again. Her hips rolled against him as she used him to stimulate herself. The friction and closeness of her naked body was almost too much, but he waited, holding himself in check, wanting to bring her as much pleasure as he could before joining her. He almost believed that he could feel her body’s response to his, the sharp little cry she emitted when she came again answering in his own chest and the throbbing of his groin. He kissed her, swallowing her cry, and dragged his briefs off. He lifted her leg over his hip and pressed into her, surprising her, filling her as completely as he’d ever filled a woman. He withdrew partway and pushed in again, and her gasping moan told him it was all right. Everything was all right. He had her again. He shifted inside of her, seeking that spot that would send her past orgasm. 

“Oh God, John,” she moaned, tossing her head back. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

Without changing the angle of penetration, he moved again in small pushes against her. Her fingers grasped at his back and head dropped to his shoulder. He felt the sting of her teeth when she bit him, trying to stifle the bestial moan that was rising in her throat. Her body seared him and held him tight within herself until he couldn’t stand it any more, it would come, and he felt her go, her muscles contracting around him, drawing the orgasm out of him and into her. For awhile they both hovered there, in a moment where they were together, a part of one another, and Steed could have sworn he felt what she felt, and that she, in turn, was crying out in his voice.

They lay side by side for some time, legs and arms intertwined. He wondered if he would ever tire of looking at her face, awake or asleep. 

“I did always fancy you in a bed like this,” he said, idly trailing his fingers over one breast. 

Emma opened her eyes. “You know, I was beginning to think that you were rather dense.”

He smiled, looking into her laughing eyes. “We didn’t use much of the space, though.”

“True. Seems a shame to waste such a nice big bed.”

“Mmm. Care to try again?”

“Mr. Steed, I do believe that you’ve read my mind.”


End file.
